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Friday, September 30, 2011

I was going to post something really lame and boring tonight (like most of my other posts), but I had another thought after the Twilight watch-along last night. I had too much fun seeing everyone else's commentary on Twitter. As Edward would say, "I'd like to hear your theories."

Snarkier Than You did a post a while back on 25 random STY facts. I am not nearly diligent enough to come up with 25 things, but I thought it would be fun if we shared a few obscure things about ourselves.

1. I once argued with a bakery employee for 25 minutes to get her to honor my free dessert coupon. I didn't even want the dessert. It was just the principle.

I would make this cake if I was actually sorry.

2. I love college football and hockey, but I can't play any sports. Any. I even got injured playing badminton in high school.

3. I was banned from a Stuckey's somewhere in Georgia when I was 18. I simply wanted to use their bathroom, but the cashier had an attitude about it. Long story short — there was an incident.

This is my First Beach. "TK doesn't come here."

4. I almost didn't get to go on my honeymoon because our travel agent was apparently mistaken about not needing a passport to visit Canada. My driver's license was not sufficient proof of residency, but somehow my library card was. Either that, or the lady at the ticket counter just wanted me to stop saying things like "What do you mean Canada has laws? It's not even a real country." before I started a riot.

5. I love learning foreign languages, but my accents are horrible. I've taught myself a fair amount French, Italian and Latin. I knew some Slovanic at one point, but I've forgotten most of it. My pronunciation attempts at any language could start an international incident.

C'est des conneries!

Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Share a few random tidbits about yourselves in the comments.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Just as a reminder, anyone who is not headed to a tiny town that exists under the near-constant cover of clouds (not London — the other one), is welcome to watch Twilight with me tonight. I'll be starting at 9 pm central. (Sorry east-coasters; I have to get my kid in bed before I can even think of sitting down.)

Let us hope they don't remove this welcome sign after this weekend.

Follow along on Twitter and hashtag your tweets with #onlyspoons (because we get no Forks).

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

I'll be honest. I never pay any attention to the Twilight series soundtracks before the movie is released. I'm too old to know any of the artists and looking at the list just makes me feel older. (Case in point: Tony Bennett has been slighted four movies in a row now. Dude gets no respect.)

I saw the Breaking Dawn: Part 1 of 90 soundtrack list was released and didn't bother to click any of the links. I figured I'd just wait and watch the movie to confirm that I am completely out of touch with current society. Unlike Billy, I am not down with the kids.

Sometime earlier this week (all the days are running together), Suzspetals tweeted me to say Christina Perri wrote a song for the soundtrack. I knew she wouldn't kid about something like that because she knows my level of obsession with Christina Perri. I do my best to stay on the Fan side of the Fan / Stalker line. I have been following her since she was virtually unknown. She went on her first nationwide tour earlier this year and I bought tickets 0.00004567 seconds after they went on sale. I got to see her perform in a small venue and I might have been unnaturally excited.

SQUEEEEEE!

The show was great and Mr. TK gave me a cookie for not trying to trying to steal a lock of her hair. I read an interview with her a while back ago that she is a huge Twilight fan. (I can't find the article now, but I swear I read it somewhere.) Or maybe she is a huge fan of Nutella. My memory is shit. Either way, we have something in common.

She wrote a blog post about having a song on the soundtrack. You can find it here and I've posted the text below.

Click for 'in yo face size.'

two years ago i made a bucket list with my best friend full of all
the things i could possibly dream of. keltie + i deemed 2010 "the 10"
and it was going to be the best year of our lives.

fast forward
to july 2010… every single thing on my list came true (ie. quit smoking,
sign a record deal, open a savings account, meet jason mraz.. etc..)
seriously. it was epic + it all happened.

so this past year
keltie + i decided to do it again + this time were were going to dream
even bigger! the number one thing on my list this year was: "HAVE A SONG ON THE BREAKING DAWN SOUNDTRACK" and
it happened!!!!!! ahhhh!!!!! + the whole soundtrack seems amazing! im
soo honored to be smack in the middle of all those artists! i am so
grateful for this opportunity!

"a thousand years" is a brand new
song me + my best friend david hodges wrote for bella + edward. we wrote
it after we so luckily screened the movie (ahhhh! you're all going to
flip out its the best movie ever!!!)

i couldn't be more proud of this song.or more proud of myself for not giving up on my dream.

I can't wait to hear this song. If you're not familiar with her music, her most popular song is Jar of Hearts.

I also love Bluebird. And Bang Bang Bang. And Black + Blue. Oh, just buy her whole damn album, people. The song I am most obsessed with right now is The Lonely. I listen to this on repeat before I write. I would love to embed the video, but Blogger has deleted it four times now and I am about to Hulk out from fighting with it.

Some would say the allegory of her experience is to never be afraid to chase your dreams, impossible though they may seem. I think the more important point is that I might not be as old as I think I am.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

I think I might be the only member of Twitarded that is actually packed and ready to go before midnight -- can someone please get me a gold star? Stat! And my one suitcase is well below the baggage weight limit which makes me very happy. Obviously I haven't packed nearly enough shit. And I'm positive I will have forgotten something veeeeery important -- that I will only remember as the plane is taxiing down the runway in Portland.

For packing excellence!!

So here I am... trying to think of any last minute details I may have forgotten to tell you about. The only thing I can think of is for my Raffle Item Donators. I failed to let you all know what to do with said raffle items. If you don't run into me anytime before Friday, please drop off your raffle item at the front desk at the Forks Motel for Stacy/Latchkey Wife -- that would be just marvelous!

Oh and some of you have wondered if anything was going on Thursday night in Forks. We haven't planned anything formal and figured you all could do whatever!! I'm sure there's trouble to be found somewhere in that town! Or hop in a car and head on down to Port Angeles for some mushroom ravioli. Hell, most of us will just be a few doors down from each other at the Forks Motel - have a game of cards, or twister or... whatever floats your boat.

Just please don't make Charlie break out his riot guys! He would not be happy about that.

All I can really say is HOLY CRAP I need this vacation like you wouldn't believe and I'm so excited that it's here. It's HERE!! I'm not very excited about having to leave my house at 4am for a 6am flight but it's FORKS! The stress headache I've had for the past two weeks has to go away once I sit my ass on the plane, right? I hope so...

One of my bosses asked me where I was going and I said back to Washington. He said, oh for another one of those vampire vacations? YUP! And this time I'm going to be much more diligent about locating my very own sparkly vampire to bring home with me. I'm sure Mr. Latchkey won't mind. I just hope my sparkly vampire doesn't object to being stuffed into my luggage.

*sigh* Now this is the exact sparkly vampire I will be hunting!

I have to say I'm happy to be going back. There were some things I didn't get to do last time -- like spend quality time in the Hoh. After seeing everyone's awesome photos, I vowed to do some serious hiking in the rain forest this time around. If anyone has any suggestions for me as to what I must see in the Hoh, let me know in the comments. And if any of you didn't make it to Kalaloch last year, I highly suggest you make the trip this time around. It's absolutely breathtaking!!

The Hoh is a bit moist... not unlike some other hos I know!!

What are you looking forward to most on your trip to the beautiful PNW? Don't forget your camera...

It's come to my attention recently - thanks to people sending me tips in a vain attempt to cure me of my near-debilitating over-packer-itis disease - that there are a variety of potential options when it comes to packing a suitcase. Start early. Plan ahead. Choose your outfits. Not to mention rolling, layering, stuffing everything in baggies - there are systems! - but tonight, I want to share mine with you all. You can thank me when you get to Forks and realize you remembered to pack booze but not underwear. It's all about priorities, commando girl.

Frankly, I am just thankful that some rocket scientist (or fellow over-packer) finally came up with the brilliant idea of putting wheels on suitcases. Because for those of you too young to remember what it was like to haul a 75-lb hard-case piece of Samsonite without wheels, luggage has come a long way, baby. Back in the day, I once personally almost caused an international incident on an escalator at an airport in Mexico. Because when you are carrying around a suitcase that weighs more than you do and get to the top of the escalator and realize that you are physically unable to lift it up and get the hell out of the way of the dozens of people closing in behind you, shit gets real.

There are approximately 1,326,511 videos on "How to Pack a Suitcase" on YouTube.

This is one of the better ones, but where does he keep all of his shoes and boots?

1,325,011 of them are boring people showing you their artful version of folding clothes; the other 1500 are of people who think it's cute to put their children in a suitcase and post it on the internet for people to laugh at (note: this is not that funny). There are teenagers, tweens, seniors, and everyone in between all dispensing advice. And the next time I need to fall asleep and don't have any relevant drugs handy, I will certainly watch one of these 5-to-10 minute snorefests. Seriously, I thing it's reasonably cool if you are a renowned world traveler and can live out of a carry-on suitcase comfortably for three months without ever wearing the exact same outfit twice, but honestly? Those zip-off cargo pants that become shorts, the all-purpose dress that you can wear while milking goats during the day and then pair with a jacket for dinner, and uber-sensible shoes all make me want to stay home.

Here's how I pack for a trip - try to stay with me, because this will be a fast tutorial:

You want to start by ingesting some alcohol. Pop open a bottle of wine, make yourself a cocktail, crack a brewski. Trust me, you are going to need it, and it will make the entire process so much more painless.

You're going to want to wait until about twelve hours before you have to be at the airport to dig your luggage out of the basement or attic or wherever you store it. Scooch out the spiders, dust bunnies, and remnants of your last trip and prop it open in a central location.

Next, open your closet, drawers, medicine chest - anywhere where you store stuff that you plan on bringing.

Begin shoveling everything you own into the largest suitcase you own. Or the second-largest - I broke my largest suitcase years ago; it came to an end in a near-fiery blaze of glory with a broken zipper and my dirty underwear spewing out all over the luggage carousel at Newark International Airport.

Anyhoo, when the pile of crap in the suitcase reaches about thirty six inches above the top of the luggage perimeter, call it a day and begin stomping on it and forcing the zipper closed. When you cannot possibly fit even another Twitarded button or cute cocktail umbrella into the mix (you ARE bringing cute cocktail umbrellas, right? I've got the buttons covered...), you are done. Whatever else you need? Fuck it - you're not going to northern Siberia - if you forget a necessity (toothbrush, floss, your hangover remedy of choice), you can buy it when you get there. Probably.

And that's my tutorial. There you have it. I hope you have found it enlightening. Make that suitcase your bitch, people. But be nice to the zipper. You're gonna need it. Or there's always duct tape.

For those of you who will be joining us in Seattle at the Rendezvous Lounge on Wednesday night, I'll be bringing along the name badge stuff/lanyards, so bring your fancy-shmancy name-tag inserts if you made one!

No need to sign up for this - just show up! But if you haven't signed up for Friday or Saturday night yet? Go HERE to get on board ($25 for one night, $45 for both - cash only at the door)! See you there - SQUEEEEE!!!

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Normally I don't get warm, fuzzy feelings for anything relating to the outdoors. I'm a delicate lady (STOP LAUGHING!) and I prefer to steer clear of nature. However, I do get all nostalgic when it comes to the meadow in Twilight.

Over a hundred of you are probably packing for Forks right now. Some of you may be thinking about possibly starting the planning stages for packing more or less an hour before your plane takes off. You are women after my own heart. I doubt any of the Forks-bound will be reading this tonight, so I seriously considered just posting "blah blah blah sparkle peen blah blah blah," but I'm not trying to get fired. (I've got a ton of money invested in the Twitarded 401k plan and it's a pain in the ass to roll that over.)

I thought it would be nice to revisit the place where this whole crazy Twilight thing started. It started with a dream about a meadow... and snowballed from there.

Some of us won't be going to Forks, and I thought it would be fun to watch Twilight together instead of stewing in our jealousy. I'll be watching the first movie Thursday night (much to Mr. TK's chagrin) at 9pm central time-ish. (I'm always late, so feel free to pop the popcorn without me.) I'll be on Twitter with my usual snark and it would be great if anyone not trudging through the Pacific Northwest could join me. It's like "movie night with Bella," but more fun. Hopefully. Since there is no Forks for us, I thought we could all hashtag (#) our tweets with #onlyspoons. I'll do a reminder post on Thursday evening. If I remember.

Friday, September 23, 2011

I've been a fan of baseball since I was a kid. I remember so vividly going to Fenway Park for the first time when I was 8 with my dad, grandfather and great grandmother. I still love baseball -- except right now I pray every night that the Red Sox at least hang on to that wild card spot so they aren't known for the biggest September choke ever in the history of major league baseball. If that happens, I will never hear the end of it from my Yankee-fan husband. But that's another whole blog post.

And with my love of baseball comes a love for boys who wear baseball hats. Mr. Latchkey Wife never goes anywhere without one. Lately he's been favoring the hat I bought him in Kalaloch last year -- even though he has no idea how to pronounce it, or what the fuck it even is! But he wears it, and that makes me happy. So needless to say, one thing (on a very long list) I love about Robert Pattinson is his eclectic collection of head gear.

As much as I hate the Yankees (being a Sox fan, it's just in my blood), I will love no photo of RPattz in a baseball cap as much as I love this one. I've even scoured the interwebs for this hat because as much as I hate to see my hubs pledge his allegiance to the evil empire on his hat, I wanted him to have this one. I may have needed him to have this hat. But alas... my efforts have failed.

Just everything about this picture is perfect: the black t-shirt, those jeans, now if only there was a red B on that hat, I could call it my heaven.

Sometimes I think that he picks up hats at the thrift shop -- hats of last-place teams that their previous owner has discarded in disgust over their lackluster performance. Like he just picks it up off the shelf, brushes the dust off it, and plops it on his head without even a second thought about the sweat stain ring on the inside. I hate to break it to you Rob, not even your magical touch can rescue either of these teams' seasons. If I thought you could, I'd hunt you down and glue a Red Sox hat to your head. For realz.

Padres circa what? Sometime in the 1990s? Any SD fans out there? How old is this fucking hat?

This Baltimore Orioles hat bears (haha, see what I did there?) such a striking resemblance to the SD hat in the above picture, I almost think he bought them both at the same place. Errr, what's up with TomStu and the Grizzly Adams look? I think he's scaring the poor puppy!

And then there's the Dodgers hat. The first time I saw RPattz sporting this LA hat I immediately thought it was a publicity stunt by Frank McCourt to pull his team out of bankruptcy. Sorry Frank... some incredibly hot young British hunk actor wearing your team's hat is not going to save you. As a matter of fact, I just saw today that MLB has asked a federal judge to order the sale of the Dodgers. Did Manny put a curse on you guys or what?

I won't be sad if I never see this hat on that pretty head ever again.

While filming Remember Me, Rob was often seen roaming the streets of NYC in a hat with a lobster patch. Between you, me and the lamp post, I once had a conversation with a former fan (that has pretty much vanished off the face of the earth) who was convinced he wore this hat at her suggestion. Uh huh... I'm sure that's exactly how it happened. Or maybe it happened because he bought it at a fucking lobster joint in Montauk. I think that sounds more like it.

There's just one hat that I want to burn. I'd like to douse it in gasoline and set it a blaze (with the puffy brown jacket of course). I'm so tired of seeing it, when I do I almost feel repulsed which is saying a lot considering whose head it's on. Mainly I hate it because of its overexposure. And the ridiculous fact that he still actually believes it's a good disguise. Dood... you wear it like every. fucking. day. It stopped hiding your identity a bazillion months ago.

LB = Live Birth (as in "let me gnaw the demon fetus from your dying form"). The beard is the only thing that saves this photo.

After the stressful couple of weeks I've had, I really needed a good, ol' fashioned, Rob-filled post of hawtness to usher me into the weekend. What about you? Doesn't RPattz make you forget your worries from the week? I only wish he were going to be the mint on my pillow at the Forks Motel.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

It seems like only yesterday that our little excursion to Foooorks was really, really far away. I figured I would have plenty of time to hash out the little details, like digging through thousands of emails to try to find my flight confirmation because I was too fucking lazy to mark it as important when I booked it or to try to find another suitcase since, based on last year's experience, I have gone from a backpack-traveling kinda gal to a throw-in-everything-but-ML-and-the-kitchen-sink kinda gal.

This was totally how I used to travel.

That's Snarkier Than You's fault. What a bitch.

Anyway, we now have less than a week before we descend upon the little town of Forks and completely ruin them and it's suddenly occurred to me that I have a ton of shit I need to do.

One of the best things about last year's trip was not just how amazing everyone was, but how different we all were yet still got along famously. Seriously, if Twitards ran the world this place would literally be full of puppies and rainbows. Or kittens and rainbows, if you're allergic to dogs. Or other fluffy things if animals ain't your thang.

And of course, RPattz's smoldering good looks would be plastered from here to fucking Bangladesh. Naturally.

It was really great getting to know everybody last year and I'm sure that there are many of you out there who are a little apprehensive about the whole meet and greet thing. As STY said in her post yesterday (and I'm paraphrasing here) "you have nothing to fear but fear itself. And possibly cirrhosis."

Does THIS look scary to you???

That being said, I figured it would be nice if maybe everybody could share something about themselves in the comments on this post - a pre-introduction of sorts, if you will. We know how naughty and lovely and caring all you ladies are. But give us a little more! Are you an only child? Do you have ten daughters? Do you fly aircraft to Mars for a living (if so, TK wants your number. I think her home planet is somewhere near there).

Just don't tell people oatmeal makes you hurl because those assholes will never, ever let you forget it.

Now that I've divulged my texture issues (again, siiiigh), I'll throw out a few more things about myself that you may not know.

1) I hate Seinfeld. I just don't get it. And coming from the tri-state area, this is a nearly unforgivable sin. I would sit there and watch it with people and they'd be rolling on the floor laughing and all I could think was, "these people are bunch of asstards." I was told I had no sense of humor.

2) I love to pop pimples. Not on anyone else, because that would make me barf, but I have no problem doing invasive at-home-surgery on my body. And I literally mean "heating up a sewing needle with a lighter and poking at my flesh until it bleeds because gahd-dammit-that-zit-needs-to-go." It's amazing I haven't given myself a massive infection.

3) I feel compelled to make faces every time someone tries to take a picture of me. It's like my brain won't let me just fucking smile like a normal person.

4) I am terrible, awful, atrocious at remembering faces/names. It's really embarrassing. I remember walking down the street outside my office and this stranger was waving at me and smiling. I totally gave her the stink eye. It wasn't until I saw her back in the office did I realize that I've worked with her for nearly five years and we're actually pretty friendly. I had just never seen her outside the office before and couldn't place her.

So, who's next? And just for the record, you don't have to be going to Forks to leave a comment. We want to hear from all of you. Hell, I wish all of you could come!

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

So for those of you playing along at home, the second (and final) pilgrimage to the Twilighty holy land is ONE WEEK AWAY! [Insert majorly girly "SQUEEE!!!" noises and the sound of me hyperventilating here.] I still can hardly believe we made this trip the first time, and I'm still in a state of panic disbelief that we're going back to do it again! Anyone coming who doesn't want to hang out in a random parking lot all night needs to sign up on the Elks Lodge RSVP list HERE. (please don't sign up more than once or LKW's head will explode, and we need her. This is the same RSVP list we posted last week, but we want to catch any last-minute stragglers to add to the official headcount. Thx.)

I've seen lots of excited chatter from people on twitter and in emails wondering what to bring, what to wear, what they'll need - you know, the basic "HFS I can't believe I'm doing this [again] - what am I going to doooooo?!?"

So I thought a little Forks-y 101 primer from someone who I can guarantee is more worried about this whole thing than you might be helpful. That being said, if you leave your toothbrush at home and forget to bring underwear, don't blame me.

No gift shop or concierge. Plan accordingly.

What to bring to Forks:

Your sense of humor.

Any Twilight gear that you want to raffle off.

A back-up liver.

Any clothes that you feel good in.

Bail money if you don't plan on riding the short bus with us.

Any & all anti-frizz hair potions known to mankind (and your hairdryer, if you use one).

Your willingness to try new things and push your boundaries.

Any anti-anxiety meds you have legal access to, should you need them.

All the Twilighty crap that you are too embarrassed to wear in public the other 362 days of the year.

Shoes that can take you from the beach to dance floor to the trails of the Hoh rainforest.

I am not outdoorsy AT ALL but you need to be able to walk here...

...and here.

What to leave at home:

Your worries - all of them - including but not limited to:

I won't know anyone.

I'm too shy to meet new people.

Nobody will talk to me.

I'm too young/old/fat/skinny/black/white/city/country/unprepared for this shit.

Also? Don't feel like you need to have an entirely new wardrobe that's different than what you wore last year. I can barely remember what I wore yesterday (hell, if I don't look down, I'd be hard-pressed to tell you what I am wearing at this very moment) and I can guarantee that nobody was paying that much attention. I have a semi-burning need to go and get a new coat to wear this year but I keep reminding myself that the coat I wore last year is awesome, has lots of pockets and a hood, and couldn't be more perfect for this trip unless it came with a built-in Robert Pattinson. I can't wait to wear it while I schlep across the street to get coffee and possibly croissants from Mocha Motion. I miss standing in line at that drive-thru coffeemat trailer, sucking in the fumes of the SUV in front of me, waiting to scurry back to the motel with caffeine and breakfast-y goodness.

Another thing? Nobody cares if you are five or ten or twenty pounds skinnier of heavier than you were last year. I keep seeing snippets of conversations where people are strategizing on how to lose a few pounds pre-Forks, and I am here to tell you this: it doesn't matter. Don't mess yourself up over this, ok? Last year I came to Forks after being on the "holy fucking shit my mom died" diet for several weeks, and frankly, I don't recommend it. Be happy, wear what you feel good in, dress up if you want to or don't if that's not your thing. It's all good. I have never, ever known a group of people who just unequivocally find joy in each others company the way this group does, and honestly all you have to do is show up and be willing to have fun, and you will.

I might totally squish JJ under my massive weight this year, but that won't stop me from riding her like a driftwood pony at Rialto beach.

So from the old hands who have a whole year of experience to reflect on to the newbies who will be riding this crazy train for the first time, what do YOU think you absolutely positively need to bring (and not bring...) to Twilight mecca???

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Mr. TK sent me the following map a little while back. Thankfully he didn't send it to my TK e-mail address as gmail has decided to fuck me in the ass AGAIN and eat a large chunk of my e-mails. If I owe you a reply it's really not because I'm ignoring you or am embracing my usual level of fail. I really can't find my e-mails. I swear. I'm about 32% sure it's not a user error. But I digress...

I'm all about civic pride, but I also really enjoy mocking things. When I clicked the link to the Pleated Jeans website, I thought it was going to be about Latchkey Wife's fashion sense, or complete lack thereof. Alas, it's just a collection of really funny items and I wasted wisely used an unbelievable amount of time reading a ton of what they have posted. This map highlights what every state is worst at. (I told you Twitarded was sometimes educational.)

Let's just go ahead and talk about the obvious. Texas is worst at high school graduation. Though I challenge anyone to brave a local Wal-Mart and tell me most of those patrons made it past first grade. Maine is the dumbest state. I'm not really sure what factors lead to that distinction (and I guarantee no one from Maine could tell you). I've called Latchkey Wife a lot of really horrible names, but dumb has never been one of them. Slutty, whorish and insufferable, yes. Never dumb. New Jersey is the worst at taxes. Really? They had so much material to choose from (and not all of it has been provided by JJ, STY & Myg) and they went with taxes? Lame.

I'm not sure what to say about Washington. I still don't know if being worst at bestiality means they have a lot of it or they're doing it badly. I fear the Cullens are throwing off statistics. I'm looking at that whole "we only hunt animals" thing in a whole new light now. I really need to know what happened to that deer in the opening sequence of Twilight. Or, is it the wolf pack skewing the numbers? There's just too many questions here.

"My family, we're different from others of our kind."

If you study the map (as I have many, many times) you'll notice some groupings that can't be coincidental. Take Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona for example. I guess once your alcoholism, cocaine use, and porn usage get out of hand, you just move to New Mexico and become anti-social. Or, you move your black liver and perforated septum to Kansas with all the other people in poor health.

It appears as though northeasterners have the life expectancy of a fruit fly. New Jersey and Maine are actually looking pretty good. Pretty much everything else in the north will either kill you or lead you to kill someone else. The least surprising state is Louisiana. Gonorrhea? Color me shocked.

Raise your hand if you have The Clap.

Here's a tip for the teachers in North Carolina: get in on the corruption in Tennessee. You deserve a few extra bucks.

Citizens of Alaska: Please just move to Hawaii. You'll be broke, but it beats the alternative. It could be a lot worse; you could live in Washington.

How does your state line up? If you live overseas, what state would like to try your luck in? Think hard about your answer; your life might depend on it.

Monday, September 19, 2011

As some of you may know, I recently adopted another dog -- a one year old bloodhound named Daisy Duke. That makes us a two dog household and even though George (my 10 year old Coonhound) may have hated her at first, he now realizes after four months, she doesn't appear to be going away. Life gets interesting with two 75 pound, extremely stubborn hound dogs underfoot. One could care less about scratches and loving, the other will try to sit on your lap. One who wants to sleep all day, the other has more energy than a six year old on speed. Two completely different dogs.

George is a handsome old boy. Loves to work his sniffer.

When we first adopted George, we used to walk that motherfucker twice a day. And it was no easy walk. It was a double leash, on your toes, almost jogging to keep up walk. I think that first year we had him I lost 20 pounds -- both from the incessant exercise, and the nerves of (for me) being a first time dog owner. Once, this neighborhood kid asked why I walked my dog with two leashes. I told him George was really strong and I needed the second one for back up. A couple weeks later, Mr. LKW encountered the same kid on a walk and the kid said hi to George and then looked at my hubs and said, "That George, he's one powerful dog." Needless to say, G had a reputation in the neighborhood.

Don't let George's innocent look fool you!

Needless to say, as George got older and lazier, we stopped the regular, twice daily walks. I found that 20 pounds I lost and well, things got a little complacent around the old Latchkey homestead. We started talking about getting a friend for G a couple years ago but never did anything about it. Then, back in April, we started getting serious about trying to find another dog - realizing that the old coonhound wasn't getting any younger. I wanted a nice Bluetick, or a Walker hound -- something a little smaller than George. Mr. LKW had his heart set on a Bloodhound. If you're familiar with the breed, you know that full grown, they run anywhere from 85-110 pounds of pure, destructive stubbornness.

So one day I was minding my own business, folding the never ending mound of laundry that lives on the guest bed, and I heard Mr. LKW say, "Oh no. Ooooooh no!" I looked over to see PetFinder.com up on the screen. That's never a good sign. Looking at me with those sad, droopy eyes was Miss Daisy Duke -- looking for a new home. She was house-trained, supposedly crate trained and up to date on all her shots. I had to make the call.

Daisy's adoption photo. How could you resist this face?

Fast forward a couple weeks later, we (including George) made the trip down to Lexington, MA to meet Miss Daisy. Or as I affectionately call her, Crazy Daisy. George explored the back yard of the person who arranged the adoption and Daisy followed him closely. George pretended she wasn't there. He didn't try to rip her head off so we figured it was ok to bring her home. Little did I know, our sleep ins would become a thing of the past...

Each morning at, oh, anywhere between 4:45 and 5:15am, Miss Daisy awakens us with her trademark hound bark. And like the good little trained soldiers, we hop out of bed, suit up the family and embark on a pre-dawn walk. I am not meant to see these types of times on my clock. I would have been just fine had I never been a witness to a sunrise ever again. Now I've seen more than I care to count. Some mornings I will offer Mr. Latchkey Wife large sums of money to just let me sleep a little longer. I feel like I'm tired all the time. Two dogs seems like triple the work.

Looks like she's working herself to the bone!

Since when did these dogs train me? I spend equal parts of my life trying to find a few minutes to nap, wiping drool off of every surface in my house, vacuuming enough dog hair to outfit a whole new dog, and buying dog food. Lots and lots of dog food. Not sure how you folks with more than two dogs do it. I bow down to you. I'm barely hanging on with the two. But for me, there's nothing better than snuggling with a stinky old hound -- I wouldn't trade either for the world. Well... not for the world, but maybe for a few bucks!

Not sure I could trade her for a million bucks. Total cuteness overload!

I know we have some dog lovers around these here parts. Tell me your best tip for a happy doggy household. And if there are ANY Bloodhound owners out there -- do they ever stop chewing shit up?

Sunday, September 18, 2011

It's Sunday and, in general, I turn into a sad, cranky bastard on Sundays. It usually starts out okay but somewhere during the afternoon it suddenly occurs to me that I have to work the next day and then I get all kinds of rage-y about it, especially since I left work on Friday in a complete irate lather, thanks to a 13 email-trail of pure fucking Stupid.

To: Jenny Jerkface
From: Imma Cockhole
Re: URGENT, NEED IMMEDIATELY

Hi JJ:

I have a client meeting in 45 seconds and I need you to compile a detailed spreadsheet of our year-to-date spent from the last five years.

Also, can you please explain to me what I did last Tuesday? I know I worked.

Need asap.
Imma

Mother. Fucker. Breathe, breathe, breathe...

To: Imma CockholeFrom: Jenny JerkfaceRe: URGENT, NEED IMMEDIATELY

Hi Imma:

I'm afraid that there is no way I can complete the task you're asking me to do in such a short period of time. As you've been told every other time you ask me to do something like this, I do not have the ability to defy the time-space continuum or the law of physics to do the impossible.

Also, have you had a chance to approve the April reports I sent you months ago and have been hounding you for on a near daily basis ever since? I really need to complete this month's reporting.

Thanks,JJ

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, asshat.

To: Jenny JerkfaceFrom: Imma CockholeRe: URGENT, NEED IMMEDIATELY

JJ:

This is absolutely unacceptable. I don't understand why this request cannot be completed with little to no advance warning. I may not have any idea of what you do but I don't see why it should take you any more than a few seconds to go through millions upon millions of line items and charges.

Not happy, JJ.

You'll get your April reports when I have a moment. I'm currently out having a latte with the other useless person from floor 9.

Best, Imma.

Now, imagine this email trail going back and forth for TWO HOURS, until I finally threw my hands up and shrieked, "DID YOU DRINK A BOWL OF STUPID FOR BREAKFAST, YOU DUMB FUCKING DUMB-FUCK!?!"

It's a good thing Cockhole doesn't sit on my floor.

Anyway, this is why Sundays suck. I just can't stop thinking about the fuckery I will face in less than twenty-four hours when I open my inbox to find 103 emails of pure idiocy.

Naturally, because I'm already in the mind-set to behave like a total douche-pecker, pretty much anything is irking me today but there was one thing that made me so fucking mad my teeth actually hurt.

It's this:

That is the view from my toilet. That black crumpled thing is a hand towel. That light green carpet thing-y is a bath mat. Typically, bath mats are supposed to next to the bathtub but for some reason mine sort of floats haphazardly around the bathroom floor. I'm 99% positive that ML does a fucking jig on that carpet each time he goes to the bathroom.

More importantly - PICK UP THE FUCKING HAND TOWEL, ML!!!

I just don't get it. Does an item become electrified when it falls on the ground? Like being incapable of refilling ice cube trays, ML apparently can't pick up fucking hand towels when they fall on the ground. (It's also a REALLY good thing ML doesn't read this blog, or he'd probably smother me with a pillow or something).

This isn't just an isolated incident, either. ML claims he doesn't see shit like this. It's like the second something hits the ground, it disappears from view, like Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak. Anything ML drops will remain on the floor until I pick it up or yell at him to pick it up.

I've been told it's a guy thing. If that's the case, I'm just going to start walking around the house, swinging my arms wildly and when ML complains that I keep hitting him I'm just gonna say, "it's a girl thing, ML."

Don't get me wrong, ML does A LOT around the house. Probably more than most dudes. And he's an awesome gardener and he hasn't dumped me even though it's been like six years and ALL my crazy has surfaced at one point or another.

Friday, September 16, 2011

On Friday evening, my company is hosting a gala at the fanciest country club in Fancyville. I got my fancy invitation in the mail a month or so ago (initial reaction upon seeing fancy, over-sized, Cullen/Swan-wedding-invite-worthy heavy paper envelope: "Who do I know that is getting married???"), and noted after reading the fancy script inside that the words "and guest" were nowhere to be found: S/Os were not invited.

Since then, I have taken to calling the gala "that stupid fucking thing that I have to go to on Friday night." The condescending meeting and emails from upper management about the fancy party have all had the same general gist: please don't embarrass us in front of our fanciest clients. [Sample "advice" - which has been plentiful: "Don't drink too much!" "Don't eat too much!" and my favorite, "Whatever you wear on Friday, just remember that you still have to work with these same people on Monday!"] I feel like I have to go, but frankly I'm a little outraged, and if I was a ballsier person who relished the idea of being on indefinite unemployment, I would have ordered my ballgown (it's black-tie optional) from the Frederick's of Hollywood catalog and that would have been that. Instead, I'm just hoping to avoid the sure-to-be upcoming meeting where they sit us down all etiquette-school style and teach us to courtesy and which fork to use for each course.

High neckline, full-length, lady-like gloves. Perfect!

In the meantime, I had to decide what to wear. At first I figured I would just wear something in my closet, and then as the day drew near and I spoke to a colleague who had gotten her gown from Rent the Runway, I decided that my kind-of-a-cocktail-dress was not fancy enough, and I needed to go buy something new. Then I came to my senses and remembered that I am flat broke, AND I don't see a lot of fancy black-tie galas on my social calendar in the future. Kind-of-a-cocktail-dress is new, so there's that.

When the going gets tough, the tough accessorize. So my goal would be to scour the interwebs and friend's jewelery boxes for the best way to gussy up my sow's ear of a dress. OK, it's not a sow ear - it's actually a really cute little thing from Loft (I have given up fashion-wise and have come to the recent conclusion that I will never shop anywhere but Loft ever again - it's like Garanimals for grown-ups!). It's not super-fancy - I could wear it more casually with boots and you might see it that way in Forks), but with the right pair of shoes, I figured I could make it work. But they had to be fancy shoes.

I don't really wear fancy shoes - the kind with sky-high heels - ever. I'm tall-ish, and while I don't have any particular aversion to height, I don't have an arsenal of heels at my disposal. But this look would require BIG heels. I'm a bit of a Nervous Nelly at events like this (I am considering it somewhat of a warm-up for Forks, only without all the hugging, booze, and profanity...probably), and when I know I am going to need all the self-confidence I can muster, I figure go tall or go home. Six-foot-plus Snarky is not a person to be trifled with, I'll tell you that much (unless you talk to her and realize she's an apprehensive mess).

After days of searching Zappos (it's a company event so this was ok to do on company time, right?), I found them: my fancy shoes. Based on the I-suck-at-math calculations I did in my head (or this may have been the booze talking), they seemed to have the perfect ratio of height-to-platform-to-not-falling-over-ness. I think. Plus they are SEXY. I may have nuzzled them against my cheek when I took them out of the box the next day (thank you Zappos VIP and your free next-day shipping!) and was enveloped in an intoxicating cloud of new-shoe smell.

The Precious. (No, not him...)

After I stopped fondling them, I tried on one shoe and hopped around the living room for a minute before taking it off and calling it a night. That one shoe looked GOOD. But frankly, I am worried for my ankles and possibly anything else breakable. I would wear pads on the fally-over spots but that might ruin the look and it would definitely defeat the purpose of wearing Spanx. Jenny Jerkface told me I should wear them around the house and do the dishes and stuff in them. This wouldn't work because 1) I would have to hunch over like Quasimodo to reach the bottom of the sink with these shoes on and 2) I am pretty sure if Mr. Snarky was around, I wouldn't be walking around too long before becoming...otherwise occupied (did I mention they are sexy?).

Update [this post was written in advance, obvs]: So I strapped these crazy contraptions to my feet and HFS I am in WAAAY over my head. They are higher than I expected (5 1/2 inches!!!). Apparently I thought I could just waltz off wearing major heels without any practice.

As I am prone to doing in times of need, I immediately emailed JJ in a panic:

STY: So I just put both of those high-heeled shoes on and I am in BIG trouble! I will have to wear these a LOT in the next 48 hours because right now I am stomping around here like a 6-year-old playing dress up. FML!!

Are props allowed at black-tie functions?

JJ: Just remember - swivel the hips. Like you're walking in a 8 circle. It's all in the hips (this is why i only wear 3 inch heels or less, jftr).

STY: Hips??? I need lessons! and possibly training wheels. and/or a walker and a cane.

JJ: Oh and just remember to take little steps too. Don't be tossing your gams out like they're fishing lines. And stand up straight. You better find your hips fast, woman. lol!!

STY: My entire body is in excruciating pain already and I have mostly been sitting down... fuck.

Remember how she clutched the back of his suit so she didn't fall over? Do you think he's free tonight?

STY: On a positive note, when I raise my hands above my head, I can almost touch the ceiling. So if anyone needs to change a lightbulb or get something off a high shelf on Friday night, I'm their gal.

Seriously? I may have bit off more shoe than I can chew. I don't think that there is any way I will be able to walk in these all night and not fall at least once. and this is not even taking into account the amount of alcoholic lubrication it's going to take to make me deal with mingling. Fuck. Did I say fuck already? FUCK!!!

When I go down, I'm taking some orchids with me. Mark my words.

This dance floor looks...not cushy. I have a feeling I may get cheek-to-wood acquainted with it.

Not sure what type of cheek, but either way, it won't be good.

I am in BIG trouble here people! {{{sniff}}} It's been nice knowing you all... Plant a tree in Forks for me. Preferably one with RPatts in it. I'd ask you for tips, but by the time you read this, I'll already have tottered off into the night... So let's just say you can leave your amusing high-heel anecdotes in the comments. It'll give me something to read in the emergency room. Toodles!

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